


i can be your home (fool)

by tastylemonade



Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: Anxious Connor (Detroit: Become Human), Connor & CyberLife Tower Connor | RK800-60 & Upgraded Connor | RK900 are Siblings, F/M, First Dates, Fluff and Humor, I am a slut for all things reverse au, Light Angst, Mutual Pining, Other, Reader being a little shit, connor doesn’t know how to properly ask people out, grocery stores, human!AU, i dont know man I love human connor, reverse!au - Freeform, what a fucking cutie pie
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-02-18
Updated: 2019-04-23
Packaged: 2019-10-30 17:12:36
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,806
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17832740
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tastylemonade/pseuds/tastylemonade
Summary: You work at a homely grocery store & struggling diner in the bad part of Detroit. Your life consists of work, paying bills, and saving for college.Honestly, the last person you’d ever imagine you’d run into is someone like Connor Anderson.But you do. And you end up liking him. A lot.And he likes you, too. A lot.





	1. Chapter 1

[ 11:47 P.M. ]

WEATHERBEE GROCERY & CO. 

Downtown Detroit, MI. : 2038

 

“these damn bananas should be 2.95 a pound, you tryin’ ‘a rip people off or somethin’?”  
of course you weren’t. you just worked here. were all retail employees forever destined to such treatment, even in 2038? and who the fuck pays three dollars for one pound of bananas? “of course, sir. let me fix that for you.” 

  
what a joke.

  
you  _hated_ working night shift (what a strange thing to say for a night owl). there was a sort of serenity that you enjoyed, though. the simplicity. a lack of commotion, noise. the eccentric characters that commonly accompanied the hours between 8 pm and 4 am, however, could test any sleazy priest’s patience. typically, you were stuck stocking already cluttered shelves (calming as hell), breaking down supply trucks (boring as hell), or, _eugh_ , scrubbing off whatever offensive substances caked the inner workings of the bathrooms (disgusting as hell). cashiering? of course you knew how to work a register, and you were damn good at it, too; especially when there wasn’t anyone in front of it.   
home sweet detroit. 

it wasn’t all bad, though- and who doesn’t love directing the local city folk to the correct location of off-brand yellow mustard at graveyard hours?  _yes, sir, aisle eight, otherwise known as the condiments section._ c'mon, you were a hero to these people. they needed you. and you needed as much rent money you could scrounge up.

  
your heroism was currently being heavily appreciated, as it seemed that divine providence wasn’t allowing slackers to hold the reigns tonight. what happened to your “help” just a moment ago? your line was beginning to stretch a little too long for your liking. briefly you wondered why anyone bothered to purchase anything here; perhaps the ever growing animosity towards androids drove them to a family owned hole-in-the-wall where human interaction was still a possibility.  _oh, yes_ , those damn androids and all that. how absolutely absurd, to actively avoid the future and ignore the changing world around oneself. a hatred so powerful it made people scurry about like rats. how close minded, selfish, arrogant-

“are you gonna give me my damn receipt or not?”  _shit_. “my apologies, sir. have a wonderful rest of your night.” he mumbles something unintelligible before snatching the thin paper from your hands, swiftly gathering his overpriced fruit and cherry flavored cough syrup. anyone who chose cherry over grape deserved to be ripped off (with a thorough psychological examination, you decide).

your next customer makes no issue pertaining to their items, though, and gives you a slight nod after a rather forced “hi there” leaves your lips. you had no issue with this; the faster you could get them out of your line, the better.  
just a few things to ring up: milk, apple juice,  _Sailor Dan’s Organic Saint Bernard Chow_ , whiskey-

“i’ll need to see some form of I.D., sir.” your utterance of such a demand makes his head snap from staring at the few groceries he had (maybe regretting his choice of dog food?) and now trained his narrowed gaze onto your face.   
you wanted to say they resembled a color close to chestnut, but the dim florescent lights made them appear bleaker, more somber (the eye bags didn’t help much, either). freckles were a rare feature you came across, but his entire face adorned them sporadically- the one near the dent on his chin quickly became your favorite. curled, dark chocolate locks rebelled from their typical form, a few unruly wisps settling against his forehead. you could almost say he was handsome, if not for the incredulous look he gave you, hairpin curved lips twisted in a sharp frown. “you’re joking, right?”

“we’re required to seek a valid form of identification with everyone, sir. nothing personal.” you watch his jaw clench before he’s fishing around his pocket only to pull out a worn leather wallet. the muttering he kept under his breath made your eye twitch. listen, you didn’t want to be responsible for any DUI’s, and you sure as hell couldn’t afford to lose this job. _who’s this guy think he is?_  why would you ever make a customer do something that didn’t benefit you, anyway? did the expression you had  _really_  exude something along the lines of, “ _please take up more of my time, i beg of you_ ”?

at least he places the state issued driver’s license onto your outstretched hand, which had definitely seen better days. you could say the same for him, too. while facial features hadn’t changed much (and, fortunately, he’s old enough to purchase alcohol), but the man photographed didn’t seem so…  _morose_. he seemed like he could’ve been your physics tutor in college; now he looked like the guy you saw at a bar who glared at you if you interrupted his brooding and tried making small talk, even  _if_ he wore that ridiculous blue-and-yellow striped shirt underneath some fancy police harness.  
  
wait. _police_ \- explained the gun on his hip.  
  
“could’ve just asked me for my name, if you’re so curious,” sarcasm heavy on his tongue, but you simply hand the card back and key in the birth date. “anything else for you tonight, sir?”  _an attitude adjustment, perhaps?_  
“any pack of menthol’s, if you’ve got ‘em.”   
“whiskey not enough poison, huh.” despite the increasing boldness beginning to creep over you, the very fact that he was able to get under your skin so easily was starting to bother you. in truth, working in retail blessed you with immense patience with the public; there was no complaint you hadn’t heard before. maybe you were tired. maybe you were desperate to go home. maybe it was because you thought he was cute-  _hah!_  as if it made a difference!  
and  _of course_  you had menthol cigarettes. what sort of grocery store would you be without them? 

to your surprise, he chuckles (’connor’, you believe the license read), but there’s no humor present in the unsettling look in his eye. “don’t think that’s any of your damn business.”   
how easy it would be to reach over the counter and  _make_  it your business with bruised knuckles, but being arrested during work hours wasn’t ideal (he was also at least 6 feet tall with a  _gun_  no less, but no one could get very far with a kick to the shin).  
you’re quick to muster back your customer service smile, unlocking a drawer to gift him his other vice. “a simple observation, sir. anything else?” “just my total, if that’s alright with you.” smart ass. but you oblige, as it’s your civic duty. “$28.57, please.”  
he doesn’t make eye contact with you again, even when you hand him the change. “$21.43, and here is your receipt. complete the survey at the bottom if you’d like a chance to win a $100 gift card.” “sure, sure,” he says in such false cheer that you so desperately want to rip it in half. 

he is more quick to collect his items than the man from earlier; you hadn’t noticed the lack of a cart until now, but you stop yourself from asking if he needed help carrying his things. _well…_  maybe you could be just a little nicer.  
“have a good rest of your night, mr. anderson.” he almost trips over his foot when he pauses, not bothering to turn around when he lets out a grumbled “’night” before collecting himself to leave hastily.   
“uh, excuse me?,” a woman’s soft voice stirs you from your stupor. you hadn’t realized you were staring after him. “i’m sorry ma’am, let me help you with these.”   
you wondered if he would be back anytime soon. you didn’t understand why.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> SURPRISE!!!!!! I am in fact NOT dead!!!!!!!!!!!  
> although i should be, taking account of my college courses & work schedule,, (which, in part, inspired this chapter)  
> i want to thank everyone who had came across this silly fanfic and gave me praise for it, i am extremely grateful for the support <3
> 
> listened to this album for the most part in the making of this chapter: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=BlwPP1CmWIY

you do not see him again for another week and two days.

not that you were _counting_ , per say- it’s just that, all things considered (and there wasn’t much), your life was anything but _thrilling_.

ah, yes, but it was yours; neck deep in grocery product, filthy diner tables, bathroom disinfectant, coffee stains, and receipt paper. when was the last time you had a drink again?  
oh, right- last night ( ~~but having one in the comfort of your own home doesn't count)~~.  
“city fun”, “friends” and “healthy social life” were lost concepts to you, as you hardly had time to spare jumping from both places of employment most days. it was the only way you could avoid being homeless while having _something_ to put away for a college fund. hey, you're in your twenties; no sense in letting _this_ youth be wasted forever.

you could indulge, though, if the occasion called for such luxury. on a saturday night you'd find yourself falling asleep in the bathtub with lukewarm water spilling over onto the dull tiled floor (maybe a glass of merlot if things were _particularly_ unbearable) with a few lit up dusty candles you found underneath the sink. the mood wasn't _quite_ right without some form of takeout and music to drown out the subconscious, in your opinion. 

only to come home on a sunday night, crashing onto that small but inviting plush mattress, leftovers for dinner _again_ , your tight-spaced apartment settled between a delicious chinese joint and the local laundromat.

living the damned american dream, as they say. 

the worsening of the rain and wind pounding against the store’s feeble windows momentarily distracts you from your thoughts; you were desperate for one, anyway. you’d rather not remember how incredibly _mundane_ your routine had become.

you opt for counting the cracks in the wooden ceiling- _how was this place in business again?_ \- before noticing the automatic doors opening to welcome another insomniac customer from the rain. 

honestly, you’re not sure how you remember his face so easily; perhaps it had to do with serving tables most of the week that gave you a good memory. or your “extremely invaluable” ability to list every single PLU code for the various fruits and vegetables in the produce section. yes, definitely that. it had to be. as if you actually had the time to memorize an eccentric police man’s facial features; you had _much_ more significant matters that demanded your attention (like the box of canned peaches you were currently putting up). 

and yet, you couldn’t help but notice how his choice of a white collared shirt suited him considerably, how it hugged his tall, lean frame just a little tighter underneath the same harness from before. a hand clenched a worn green hand basket, the other fit snugly into a front pocket where you found next to both gun and badge.

his lack of protection from the weather only slightly worried you, as he adorned a sort of worn black trench coat; at least he was keeping warm.  
that same tuft of curls were brushed against his forehead, most likely damp from rain pour; those hair-pinned curved lips now set into a small frown.

and those familiar pools of deep cinnamon, cautious, guarded, scanned around the bakery, seafood department, aisle one, gradually making their way over to your obvious stare-

the small box you held slipped from your grasp, your usual midnight task crushing onto the worn wooden floors and out tumbled the now forsaken canned peaches you were trying to organize alongside the crushed pineapple. 

 _“would you consider yourself a novice in stocking merchandise onto various shelves of a business?”_ no _._

 _“would you ever describe yourself as someone who is distracted easily from their daily work tasks?”_ absolutely fucking not, but here you were, dropping a whole case of fucking canned fruit because you made eye contact with someone you saw only once before.

reluctantly, you pick up the fallen items, embarrassment causing a rush of blood finding its way to your cheeks; damn this body for betraying you! as if there were any reason to feel the slightest bit of embarrassment. there was hardly anyone in the damned store to begin with. his presence made no difference, no more important than the woman currently trying to purchase every single case of watered down beer (your manager, as far as you could tell, was having none of it). 

you don't initially notice him walking towards the aisle until you reach for a particular can, the one that decided to roll away the farthest- you let out an irritable huff of air while walking over snag it, only to see him swipe it from the ground. 

 _shit_.  
  
he reads over the label disinterestedly after twisting it around once, twice. "100% organic sliced peaches. quality assured. and," his eyes find yours in a quick flicker, "only 35 calories." the ever increasing urge to roll your eyes takes over your senses, but you manage to hold your tongue. why the hell was he even talking to you? and trying to joke about _peaches_ , no less!  
you reach to take the merchandise off his hands before replying apathetically, "i'll be sure to notify you once we're stocked up on horribly over sized GMO's."  
his eyes slightly narrow at your choice of words. 

you didn’t mean to seem so cold. you hadn't been assigned to do much for the night, and he was simply making conversation. you chalked it up to first impressions, though it wouldn't hurt to be nicer. he was a paying customer, after all.  
  
all of this soon flew completely and utterly out the fucking window, however, once he held the canned ~~sliced~~ peaches _just_ out of your reach, a single eyebrow raised. 

”i think the phrase you’re looking for is _‘thank you’._ ” 

there were a whole lot of phrases you wanted to say, but nothing appropriate came to mind, so you unclench your jaw, suck in a small breath and quip, “don’t believe in saying things i don’t mean.”

 _there_. that had ought to get your point across- _wait_.

was that a trace of a smile on his lips? _no_ \- was it...  _humor_? was he _actually_ amused with you? 

"guess we got something in common, then." he’s quick to place the item in the basket.

briefly (if but a moment), you are at a lost for words. considering the political climate that currently hung over detroit like a somber black cloud, you wondered why someone like _him_  had time to speak _you_ about fucking canned fruit. didn’t someone in his position have much more _pressing_ issues to be concerned about, other than messing with a minimum wage worker that just wanted to have _one_ good night sleep in their small humdrum of an apartment? an interruption of your typical routine deserved any animosity you felt like giving it. 

"if you're done wasting my time, i'd like that back. please." 

he lets out a sharp laugh. it would’ve been a pleasant sound to the ears, under different circumstances. “you talk to all your customers like this or am i just lucky tonight?”  
"never heard of being someone’s ire considered to be lucky.”

"hmph," is his response, "think i'll take this one anyway,” something resembling of a sneer forms on his lips. "if you don't mind." 

even _you're_ sickened by the gross and undeniably fake smile that spreads across your face. "of course not, mr. anderson. is there anything else i can help you with?" 

the fact that he matches your sarcasm (smile and all) almost makes you want to laugh. almost. his voice, a softened rasp underneath deepened, rough gravel, could’ve made your entire body waver. the dimples that formed in his cheeks you would've thought handsome, even, if you didn’t feel like punching his lights out. "if you could be so kind as to point me over to your frozen section," he takes a moment to dart his eyes over your uniform only to find an absence of a name tag. "i'd greatly appreciate it." 

good. the less he knew of you, the better. "certainly. aisle 10. straight down on your right." 

“great!” he moves past you hurriedly, empty smile replaced with a look of determination. “ _‘i think the phrase you’re looking for is thank you’_!” he acknowledges your mockery with a grunt loud enough for you to hear. 

you’re still unloading cans of fruit once he’s finished shopping. it’s a clear line of sight from where you’re standing to the registers, but he doesn’t turn to match your gaze. he gathers his things, _“here’s your receipt sir,”_ a slight pause on his end after taking the sliver of paper, before nodding to the cashier and heading into the storm once again. 

you take your time scrubbing away the various dirt and debris lingering in the bathrooms. you take your time punching out, _8 a.m. sharp_ , walking to your car, driving home, showering, only to collapse onto your bed, and you wonder when would be the next time you’d run into him again. 

**Author's Note:**

> You wondered if you could write another random Human!Connor drabble before you internally combusted. So you did.
> 
> I don’t know man I love him to bits so I couldn’t resist whipping this up. I like the idea of him falling for someone who’s just trying to get their life together as much as he is. Especially someone who can match his sass ;;
> 
> As always, I always appreciate any feedback!! ❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️  
> and nO I haven’t forgotren my other fics I jUST,, had to get this off my brain before i literally died,,,,


End file.
